A Promise Made
by Fuu43
Summary: Prompt for Summer of Sam Love: After Lazarus Rising, Sam is suffering from severe separation anxiety anytime Dean leaves the room. Dean can't figure out why, until a talk with Bobby. Sam is comforted by his big brother.


**Title: **A Promise Made  
**Author: **fuu43  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Warnings:** One or two curse words, heavy angst.  
**Disclaimer:** Supernatural doesn't belong to me.  
**Recipient: **Spuffy_girl  
**Word Count:** 5596  
**Author's Note: **I have been fighting fighting fighting to get this posted over on LJ for Summer of Sam Love since Sunday night... but LJ has been hating hating hating me and I've only been able to upload like... 15 words. I'm sorry Spuffy_girl! I hope you like this!

**Prompt:** After _Lazarus Rising_, Sam is suffering from severe separation anxiety anytime Dean leaves the room. Dean can't figure out why, until a talk with Bobby. Sam is comforted by his big brother.

* * *

Sam forced himself to stay still, his heart beat thudding loudly in his ears as he attempted to quiet his noisy breathing. With his eyes clenched shut, he physically trembled as his hands dug painfully into the fitted sheet beneath him. Swallowing back the taste of bile, he fought the urge to race to the bathroom, trusting that his stomach would settle down. Breathing through his mouth, he opened his eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment.

He knew it was late; the morning sun had yet to cut through the large window and spill across the room. It was quiet as well, the air around him motionless in a way that only the dead of night could produce. In the dark he lay curled up on his side, his long legs bent just enough so that the worn blanket Bobby had given him covered him from neck to toe. Shivering, Sam tucked his limbs closer to his chest, wondering how it was possible that he was so chilled. The weather was nice enough that the window was open; he'd gone to sleep in a faded t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

Glancing to his left, he took in the sleeping form of his brother. In the dark Dean was barely discernable, the dark outline of him just visible as he rested on his stomach. Holding his breath, Sam listened for the sound of his brother taking in oxygen. Even with his own heart beat a jarring sound in his ears, he could hear his brother's heavy breathing. He listened to it for several long moments, refusing to take a breath until his lungs burned painfully.

Though they usually crashed in whatever space Bobby had available, the study he'd shoved them into had been perfectly suited to Sam. He'd been worried that Bobby would put them in two rooms, that he'd ask Sam to bunk upstairs and Dean downstairs. It hadn't happened before, Bobby had always managed to squeeze them into the same space, but the worry had been enough that Sam hadn't been able to keep his dinner down. While the lasagna had tasted delicious during dinner, it hadn't been nearly as good two hours later.

His stomach rolled at the memory and Sam watched his brother until it settled once more.

Sam had woken up three times before, each time his stomach twisting until he'd taken in the sleeping form of his brother. The past week he'd been popping Tums like candy until the chalky aftertaste was a constant.

Tonight he'd found himself reaching the first two times, desperate to feel the warm proof that Dean was alive. In the dark he couldn't see his brother's skin, tan from the sun and flushed slightly red from the blood that pumped beneath it. With him asleep Sam wasn't able to hear his brother's snarky laugh or watch him wolf down a bag of peanut M&Ms.

And lately, that had been all that Sam seemed able to focus on. What was Dean doing? Where was Dean? Was Dean okay? If Dean wasn't an arm's length away, wasn't in seeing distance, then there was a chance that he'd somehow been dragged back. Or worse, that Sam had imagined the whole thing and Dean had never even returned.

He knew that there was something wrong with him, had known it almost immediately after his brother had returned. When Dean had reappeared, had been real and next to him and alive, Sam had been so overwhelmed he hadn't known how to react. Now he was obsessed and was so sick with it that it barely bothered him anymore.

He watched his brother sleep and tried to make himself do the same. Waking up and needing to check that Dean was there and alive had shortened his sleeping time by hours. That, coupled with the effort he'd had to use to stay near his brother at all times was taking a toll on him. Besides all of that, Sam had had to be careful as well. It was true that Dean had been more upbeat as of late, but that didn't mean he wouldn't notice his brother wigging out. It wouldn't do anyone any good if Dean figured out how much Sam worried about him.

Dean had only been back a week, had crawled out of a grave and reappeared in Sam's life seven days earlier. The last four months seemed like a nightmare, his memories a cloudy haze that didn't want to lift. Sam didn't know how to make himself not think about it, how to make himself realize that Dean was there and alive and with him.

The first time Dean had left, it hadn't even registered to Sam. He'd still believed on some level that Dean was gone, that whatever was happening was nothing more than a bizarre dream. It hadn't seemed that far-fetched at the time, he'd had similar dreams before. Dean would miraculously return, calling him Sammy and smiling wickedly and then Sam would wake up, alone.

When they'd reunited and it had hit home that Dean was there and real, Sam hadn't been able to figure out how he'd even let Dean out of his sight. His vision had tunneled and his mind had whispered at him. Sam had been lucky this time, Dean was back. Even with everything else going on, he should have known better. Anything could have happened to Dean and Sam wouldn't have known. Hell, Sam had been away from his brother only a few short hours when an angel had appeared.

The next time Dean had disappeared, had gone quick to town while Sam had been napping, Sam had woken up and had a mini meltdown. They'd been at Bobby's for only a few days and Dean had been in sight the entire time. They were supposed to be regrouping, supposed to be resting up while they tried to sort through the mess and confusion that had been dumped on them.

Sam hadn't realized how much he'd been following his brother with his eyes, studying his every movement. He hadn't noticed that he'd automatically moved room to room with Dean, that his body had tensed in the moments his brother had stepped momentarily into the bathroom or fetched something from the study.

He'd had nightmares of course, horrible images of his brother vanishing while Sam frantically searched and searched and searched. Or worse, dreams where Dean just left, told Sam that he was weak, pathetic, and no longer any brother of his. He was used those though, had been having them for so long that they'd become almost a given.

But when Dean had left in his impala, had ran a quick errand without giving Sam the chance to tag along, Sam had literally thought he would die. He had just known that something would happen, that Dean wouldn't come back at all. And that certainty had him seeing spots, had his lungs tightening painfully as he'd clenched his eyes closed and waited for the end to come. Because if Dean left again, if Dean died again, Sam was certain that there was no way he could continue living.

By the time his brother had returned Sam had been hanging on by a thread, had nearly crawled into a corner and given up. Bobby had been there, watching him with wide eyes as he'd slowly deteriorated, talking softly to him when Sam had been certain Dean wasn't going to return.

But Dean had returned, bag of groceries on his hip and whistling a tune. Sam had grown dizzy, had thought he might puke or pass out. Slamming his hand in a kitchen drawer, he'd used the pain as an excuse for the tears he could feel wetting his cheeks. They were wiped away quickly, fast enough that his brother had only raised his eyebrows and asked if his hand was okay.

Sam had stuck as close to his brother as possible the rest of that day, actually bumping into him once or twice. It had been embarrassing but Dean had been blissfully oblivious, had been so focused on washing and waxing his baby that he'd welcomed Sam's help and ignored his weirdness. And it was weird, even Sam knew that.

Bobby had been watching Sam carefully since; Sam could feel the older hunter's eyes on him even as his own followed Dean. Sam had been trying to play it cool though, he didn't need Bobby running to Dean like he was some sort of kid. He needed to support his brother and his mini freak outs weren't helping anyone.

Listening to his brother rest, Sam gave into the urge and gently untangled one of his hands from the blanket. Cautiously he reached forward, his arm actually shaking as it traveled the short distance. He held his hand in front of his brother's face, Dean's breath warm against his fingers. Shutting his eyes, he moved his hand down so that it rested next to his brother's pillow, barely brushing against Dean's forearm. It was a testament to how tired Dean was that he didn't stir.

With Dean now literally close enough to touch, Sam's body finally gave into the exhaustion that was eating away at him.

* * *

Dean ate the fried egg sandwich in four bites, the taste of greasy egg, bacon, cheese, and ketchup hitting the spot with his nearly boiling coffee. The plate he ate off of was chipped and old, the silverware mismatched and the coffee cup permanently stained. Slouched over in one of Bobby's slightly rickety kitchen chairs, he picked up another sandwich and had it gone in three large mouthfuls. He debated only for a moment before grabbing a third; it was a greasy mess that had him licking his fingers.

Dean had never considered himself much of a picky eater but could say with certainty that no one made a fried egg sandwich like Bobby Singer. Dean wasn't sure just what his friend did to make them taste so delicious, how he'd thought to fry up the bread with butter before slathering the entire thing together, but the sandwich from childhood had always been a favorite.

His father had never really understood how a kitchen operated, what ingredients tasted best together. Dean had the faintest impression of his mother, humming quietly and swaying as she stood at the kitchen counter chopping or stirring. Dean and Sam had grown up on box macaroni and fast food and after a couple of years Dean had forgotten that food could come from other sources. Sam hadn't even realized what a home cooked meal was until he was seven. Uncle Bobby's cooking had been a wondrous thing that had never failed to make Sam's jaw drop. A burger that didn't come from Burger King? Chicken that wasn't from KFC? Real plates and forks?

Rubbing tiredly at his eyes, he grabbed bacon off the paper toweled plateful Bobby had set out, cramming several pieces into his mouth. Around him the early morning light shown weakly through the kitchen windows and the heavy stench of bacon filled the air. It was early enough that the sun had just started to shine through the flimsy curtain windows, cutting across the scuffed table in brightly colored lines. With the windows cranked open an early morning breeze gently meandered through the small space. It smelled good with the fresh food, creating a scent that stirred up more childhood memories of early mornings at 'Uncle' Bobby's.

Pouring himself another cup of coffee, Dean ignored the cream that had been set out on the table. How his brother stomached that girly stuff he'd never know. He was fairly certain Bobby wasn't a huge fan of it either, especially since the small cartoon had yet to be opened. Bobby's coffee wasn't anything to squeal about, though it was black and hot. He quickly drained that too, setting the white mug down with an audible clink.

Behind Dean Bobby worked at the hot stove, his hat on his head even though Dean was still in his pajamas. The apron he wore was stained and old, a faded 'Kiss the Cook' so worn it was barely visible on it. At thirteen and nine the two brothers had thought it was the best gift ever. He was only slightly surprised Bobby still had it. In the past two years he'd realized that Bobby was a lot more than just an acquaintance. Bobby was family.

Rolling his shoulders back, Dean glanced out of the far side of the room towards the ancient staircase that was just visible. He had managed to creep down without waking his brother, a feat that he hadn't thought possible. But he had moved carefully and Sam had stirred only briefly before rolling over and falling back into a deep sleep. While Dean had been waking up earlier and earlier after he'd emerged from Hell, he'd noticed almost immediately that Sam never seemed to sleep at all. The bags under his eyes were large and dark and he seemed to stay up later and be up before Dean.

Dean inwardly crossed his fingers that his brother would get in a few more hours before finally waking up. Sam needed it. Dean had wondered to himself more than once if Sam had slept at all while Dean had been gone, if he'd expended any energy in keeping himself healthy and whole.

Another plate of bacon appeared before him, a sharp knock on the head following it just as quickly.

"Jesus Bobby, what was that for?"

He rubbed at the back of his head and grimaced as Bobby pulled out and sat in the chair across from him.

The older man didn't seem as worn around the edges as Dean remembered from when he'd first seen the hunter. The beer bottles had been removed, tucked away somewhere out of sight or thrown out. There were several lines on his friend's face that he hadn't remembered seeing before and the way that held himself seemed older at times, but Bobby had recovered from Dean's death and resurrection quickly.

Bobby poured his own cup of coffee and slathered a piece of toast with butter.

"How's your brother?"

The question was so deceptively curious that Dean paused mid-chew on his fifth egg sandwich. Bobby hadn't said much the last few days, had watched the boys rest and recover and kept mostly to himself. He'd seen Bobby speaking with Sam a few times, low tones and soft words while Sam had shook his head 'no' and fidgeted.

"Fine I guess."

Dean shrugged his shoulders as he finished the sandwich, not knowing just what Bobby was aiming for. Turning his attention to the plate of bacon, he nabbed three more slices.

"Fine?" Bobby's voice rose slightly and he pointed the used butter knife at Dean. "How far up your ass is your head boy? Sam's fine? In what world is your brother fine?"

The older hunter's voice was quiet but cutting, filling up every nook and cranny between Dean's ears. His thoughts immediately started racing, picking through each recent memory he had of his brother. Sam was tired yes, and had been keeping a bit closer to Dean, but the older brother couldn't blame him. Dean remembered feeling the same after Sam had come back from the dead and he'd been gone less than twenty four hours. How could Dean hold that against Sam?

"He's adjusting."

Dean could hear the stubbornness in his tone, felt his shoulders tense. Already he could feel the sick sense of worry tighten his stomach. Since he'd returned from the dead he hadn't watched his brother as closely as he could have and as much as he hated to admit it, there was a chance he could have missed something. But Sam had been in sight nearly the whole time, had been in arm's length for the past week. He'd been tired and worn, but Dean got that, Dean and Sam were resting at Bobby's so that they both could recover.

"He's a mess." Bobby's voice softened, clearly hurting for the younger Winchester, "He's falling apart at the seams. I know you've seen it."

Dean's mind stumbled over what he knew Bobby was referencing, a memory he had pushed away. He had come back from an errand and Sam had been waiting, shaking and trembling and looking like death warmed over. Hell, his younger brother had been crying, silent tears that had been instantly wiped away. Sam's eyes had searched him out, had widened almost comically as he'd walked in the door. But Sam had been fine, had pulled himself together and helped Dean wax the Impala. Whatever it had been, Sam had recovered. It had been nothing.

After all, life was good. Dean was alive and reunited with Sam.

"I don't know what I saw," Dean's voice caught on the last word, the bitter lie twisting his tongue.

Was it so much that he wanted his brother to be okay? That for just once things between them to be good? He hadn't wanted to see it, had believed the lie his brother had told and swallowed it down with a smile.

A loud crash from upstairs interrupted his regret filled musings, his coffee cup clinking back on the table as he half dropped it. Another bang followed on the heels of the first, traveling across the upstairs in an uneven pattern. Dean's eyes jerked up to the ceiling, following the noise as it traveled through the bedrooms and bathroom before starting on the stairs.

Dean leaned forward automatically to get a better view.

Sam stumbled down the stairs, moving so quickly that only his hand on the railing kept his body upright. Beneath him his feet tangled and twisted in each other as he pushed himself faster and faster. Wearing what he'd fallen asleep in, Sam's long shaggy hair hung in his face. He was pale, his eyes red and swollen. There were wet tracks on his cheeks and his chest heaved as he seemed to chew on each breath he took.

"Sam?"

Dean's voice was quiet, barely audible over his brother's frantic movements. He felt Bobby still across from him.

Sam stopped at his brother's question, his long limbs freezing at the bottom of the steps. His eyes skittered over Dean's face before flitting down to his toes and back up to his head. He seemed to pull himself together at the sight, blinking rapidly and rubbing quickly at his eyes.

"Oh… morning."

Sam's voice was scratchy from sleep, his words slightly slurred. Dean watched him try and act as if nothing was wrong, as if he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. Sam glanced at Bobby, hesitantly smiling as he brought a hand to the back of his neck. It was painful to watch. Half shrugging, Sam bowed his head clearly in embarrassment and shuffled across the floor.

Bobby snorted loudly and stood up, taking off his apron and meandering over to the stove. Turning it off, he adjusted his hat and glanced at Sam. Dean's younger brother pulled out a chair, slouching in it and immediately grabbing at a fried egg sandwich. He kept his eyes on his food.

Dean didn't fail to notice that Sam had chosen the seat closest to him, that he had tugged it so that their elbows were nearly touching.

"Put the dishes in the sink when you're done."

Bobby passed by them, cuffing Sam gently on the back of the head and giving Dean a significant look as he exited the room. Sam didn't look up at the motion, instead bowing more fully over his plate.

Dean glanced over at his brother, taking in his sluggish form. Sam was like an old man, his entire concentration focused on each small task. He watched Sam pour a cup of coffee, his hand shaking slightly as he maneuvered the coffee pot. Dean could see the lines of tension still in his brother, watched him open the creamer as if it took all his skill.

Unsure whether or not he was supposed to ignore his brother's outburst or not, Dean stared blankly at Sam and tried to think of what to say. Sam glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, his gaze jerking away just as fast. Forcing himself to grab at a piece of bacon he no longer had the stomach to eat, Dean watched his brother discreetly and waited for him to say something. Sam ate his sandwich in silence without looking up again.

Dean leaned back and pushed his plate away, shoving the piece of bacon he'd just taken into his mouth as he poured himself more coffee.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Bobby was right. Something wasn't right with Sam, hadn't been right from the moment he'd come back. He had overlooked the truth, pushed it away and seen what he'd wanted to. Watching him purposefully look away, purposefully ignore him, Dean realized that he'd grown used to his brother's constant stares.

Without trying he could recall other memories of Sam standing too close, of waking and catching Sam watching him, of Sam accidently making contact with an elbow or leg.

What was going through Sam's head Dean couldn't seem to wrap his own mind around.

"Sam?"

Dean kept his voice light and inquiring. He felt as if he were trying to soothe a spooked animal.

"Hm?"

Sam spoke around a mouthful of fried egg, his eyes remaining fixed on the scuffed table in front of him. He was still working on his first one, his bites small and seemingly forced. Dean shifted again and felt Sam's elbow brush against his. At the touch his brother relaxed a fraction more, the heavy lines of tension between his eyes smoothing.

"I was thinking of going to town today, maybe picking up some booze and local newspapers. Want anything?"

It was cruel of him to say, cruel of him to put Sam through any more distress. But Dean had to be certain, had to be know without a doubt what was wrong. He needed to know so he could fix it, could fix Sam. It didn't seem possible to him that he could be at the root of Sam's distress.

Sam stopped chewing at Dean's words, his fork frozen on the way to his mouth. He coughed and swallowed, his jaw opening and closing several times before he set the utensil down with a distinct clank. Dean watched the color slowly drain from his face, watched him struggle for words.

_Tell me Sammy. Tell me._

Dean wanted to crush his brother beneath him and force him to tell. In the past prying words out of Sam had been both easy and impossible. After they'd hit the road again things had fallen into a pattern he could easily recognize from their childhood. Some things seemed to spill out of Sam's lips, while others got tangled up deep inside. He wondered when their communication had deteriorated enough that every conversation with Sam was like pulling teeth.

Sam stared at his plate, his gaze somewhere far away. He sighed, dragging his eyes back to Dean.

"I jus–"

He paused mid word, his color turning from pale to a distinct shade of green. Recognizing the look immediately, Dean pushed his chair away so that his brother would have one less thing to tangle up in. Darting up and out of his chair, Sam raced across the floor and into the hall.

Dean followed after his brother, hearing the bathroom door slam only moments before his brother started retching. Usually he'd leave his brother to it, would know that Sam would return in only a few moments and fill him in on what was happening, if he was sick, hung over, or something else entirely.

Now, Dean didn't know what his brother would say.

The hall was empty, Bobby having made himself scarce. Dean was thankful he'd left the two boys to hash it out, though were the hunter had gone he had no idea.

Beneath his feet the cold aged hard wood made his toes ache and the balls of his feet go numb. Bobby's entire house was filled with antiquated books, furniture, and appliances, and the heating and cooling systems were practically non-existent. Even though it was summer, the early morning created a chill that seemed to seep into everything.

He stopped next to the door, leaning forward and attempting to turn the rickety handle. Sam may not be thrilled to see Dean but the elder brother couldn't bring himself to care. From what Dean had gathered Sam hadn't had anyone to lean on the last four months. And there was no way they'd be able to move forward until Sam and Dean had figured out the emotional mess that currently engulfed them.

The door was locked.

"Sam?"

The retching paused, heavy gasps taking their place as Sam seemed to fight to keep from sobbing. Dean knew the stages of Sam in pain as well as he knew his own, both physical and mental, and the uneven loud breaths were a bad sign.

He waited a few seconds for the lock to snick, for Sam to lean over and let him in. When it didn't happen Dean jiggled the handle again, this time clearly frustrated.

"Sam!"

His voice had gone from gentle to irritated in seconds, the name sharp on his tongue. It was a tone that had always worked on Sam growing up, had made him scramble to comply. Now it earned him a half moan and a loud thud on the door.

"Sam?"

He listened to his brother slide down the door and lean against it in a sitting position. In the clothing he was wearing Sam had to freezing. If the hardwood floors were cold in the summer, the tiled bathroom was frigid.

"Come on Sam, let me in."

Dean automatically slid down so that he was level with his brother. Leaning his head against the door, he brought a hand up and curled it next to him. He spoke in low tones, using a cajoling voice that had worked on a teenaged Sam when his harsh voice had earned him a disdainful eye roll. Dean wanted to wish himself through the door, wanted to make the heavy wood disappear.

"No."

Sam's voice was quiet, still shaking as he fought to keep himself together.

"Come on Sam, let me in."

_Let me know what you're thinking, tell me what's wrong._

"It's nothing," Sam was such a bad liar that Dean almost smiled, "I just don't feel good."

Dean resisted the urge to pound his fist against the door, to stand up and kick it in.

"Okay," Dean closed his eyes and listened for a moment to his brother falling apart before making up his mind, "I'll go to town then and grab you something while I'm there."

The change was almost instantaneous, Dean listening as Sam started earnestly crying.  
"No." The broken word was choked out, nearly indistinguishable from Sam's half sobs, "Please don't leave Dean. Don't leave."

Dean's heart clenched at his brother's pleas, wondering how long the words had stewed inside of him. He wanted to break the door down, to break down all the doors that had somehow sprung between them.

"I won't Sam, I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned more heavily on the door between them, wishing he could see the expression on his younger brother's face.

"You left," Sam spoke in a voice that was barely discernable, the door actually rattling with his shakes, "You were gone and it was my fault."

Sam was killing him, pulling out every painful thought and leaving them in a bloody pile between them.

"No Sam, no it wasn't."

His brother continued, speaking over Dean as if he hadn't said anything at all.

"And you'll leave me again, you'll go and I'll be here again. Alone."

Dean ran a shaking hand through his hair, just now comprehending the fear that drove his younger brother. How did he somehow think that Sam would be okay after living four months alone without the one thing that had been constant in his life? Growing up Dean had early on stopped thinking of himself as something separate. There had only been _Sam and Dean_. It had never occurred to him that Sam felt the same way.

"I'm here Sam; I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

He was shocked that his own voice was starting to sound wet, that his throat tickled and his chest was tight.

"I just," He listened as Sam struggled to form words, "I can't do this alone. If you're not here, I don't want to be."

Dean knew immediately that Sam wasn't talking about being at Bobby's or anything so simple.

"Sam," Dean couldn't bear to have this conversation through a piece of wood, "Please unlock the door."

He waited, trying to be patient even as every part of him was screaming inside. He didn't want to talk about this period but should have known that it was inevitable. And Dean would do whatever was necessary to get Sam whole and well again. After several moments he heard his brother slide across the floor, the soft snick of the lock being undone following. Dean waited several moments before reaching up and pushing it open.

The bathroom light wasn't on, the pale morning sun shining through the tall grimy window in the corner. From his crouched height Bobby's bathroom was cracked and dirty and alien to Dean. Everything looked worn and wrecked in the small space, including his clearly distraught brother.

Wedged up between the toilet and shower, Sam was hunched over so far that his hair obscured his entire face. His hands clenched his pants, his knuckles white from gripping them too hard. Dean watched as Sam's entire frame seemed to shudder and slowly pulled himself into the cramped space next to his younger sibling.

"Sam."

Dean kept his voice light, his tone soothing. Sam still flinched at his name, his head slowly rising as Dean forced himself even closer. Between the long strands of hair Sam's eyes were red and swollen, his cheeks tear stained. With their knees touching, Dean leaned forward and covered his brother's hands with his own. Sam's hands were trembling.

It made sense Dean supposed, in a horrible sort of way. Sam had learned to function without Dean, had somehow pulled himself into some semblance of living. With Dean suddenly back, breathing, talking, _joking_, Sam had been thrown back into his old life. And how awful for Sam to suddenly see just how messed up everything had become, to feel as if he could be thrown back into that at any moment? He had learned to live with nothing… but to go back to everything? The fear that he could lose it all again would be suffocating.

"Sam," Dean paused as he tried to figure out just what he could say that would make this better, "I won't leave you again, I won't."

Sam shook his head, the words not even seeming to register.

"Just cause you don't want to go doesn't mean you'll stay."

Dean had to lean in to catch the soft sentence, his mind scrambling once more at his brother's mournful tone.

"Worrying every time I leave the room isn't going to help either."

His younger brother half laughed half cried at Dean's point, leaning his head forward until it touched his brother's hand.

"I just don't know what to do."

Sam's voice was thread bare and stripped raw, so shaken that Dean briefly wondered how he'd been so oblivious for so long. He could feel the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, could hear the need in Sam's words. Growing up Dean had been able to fix everything, had known exactly how to solve each of his younger brother's problems. From girls to hunting, to Dad, Dean had always known what to do. But with everything that had happened Dean wasn't sure if he could trust himself to say the right thing anymore. For the first time he felt totally lost.

But Sam couldn't know that.

"We'll stick close, and if I do have to go, really _go_… " He listened to Sam's breathing increase at the words, his hands clenching more tightly against his pajama pants, "I won't go alone."

After everything they'd been through it didn't seem like such an odd thing to promise. They both had tried to survive without the other, had both done everything humanly possible to keep the other with them.

"You'll take me with you?"

Dean wrapped his free arm around his brother's bent shoulders. He moved in even closer, near enough that his brother's heavy breathing was warm against his neck. Making the promise hurt, he wanted to believe that Sam could live without him, that he could stand up and keep going. But it was clear now that Sam didn't know how to pick up the pieces without Dean, couldn't even gather them back together after his brother had returned.

They were a package deal, Sam and Dean and Dean and Sam. He breathed in the scent of his brother's shampoo, could smell the scent that was baby Sam beneath.

He knew without a shadow of a doubt that the Winchester's were done making deals; when one was gently embraced by death, the other would willingly follow.

"Always Sam."


End file.
